mouse in our house

Who knew that when I wished for a new, little pet to love, it would come in the form of a teeny, tiny gray mouse? Minnie has taken up residence in our kitchen under the stove. She scurries about in the evening, sneaking out to grab a crumb here and there. She doesn't seem to mind if we are in the room as long as we don't make loud noises. I am trying to convince James to make her his class pet, though he hasn't taken the bait yet. Last week I thought a dog would be a great addition to his class. So far, I haven't convinced him that we should have cats or dogs living with us. But Minnie came of her own free will and she is too quick to be caught by human hands, so that means she gets to stay for awhile. This morning I was thrilled to find her teeny footprints scattered all over the surface of our oven in the leftover grease from the amazing tuna James cooked last night. A happy reminder to James that it is important to clean the stove after cooking:) Minnie is really improving our quality of life; she gives us something to talk about besides school and work, she provides hours of entertainment for James who expends a lot of energy trying to catch her, and she makes us keep things extra clean in the kitchen. And if all goes as planned, she may even be the thing that allows me to get a kitten. I'll keep you posted.

Po-boy fest reflections

Los Poboycitos













Amanda Shaw












Some thoughts on Po-boy Fest:
Too many people (like way too many - over 10,000 along a very narrow street - Oak St.)
Not enough po-boys... Is it possible that po-boy fest actually highlighted other types of food?
Excellent jambalaya!!!!!!
6 hours of nearly non-stop fantastic music - Los Poboycitos, Amanda Shaw & the Iguanas (there was another stage, but once we claimed a spot, we never moved again)
Perfect weather
James scored a great t-shirt
Great place to run into friends, co-workers and neighbors (because over 10,000 people were standing in a 5-block area....)
We actually went home and cooked dinner - most likely not what is supposed to happen after a food festival....

Trouble the Water

According to Kathy's recent comment, Trouble the Water, made the Oscar documentary short-list, meaning that they may be eligible for an Academy Award nomination! If you haven't seen this movie, please try to! It is worth your time, your energy and your $$. This film is about real New Orleans people and about Katrina victims and survivors. It is powerful.

And, on another note, Po-boy Fest, here we come!!!!

sensory overload

My brain has not been able to process all of the things that have been going on over the past week or two, therefore, though countless stories are yet untold - I can't even begin to put together the pieces to make sense of them. James and I are doing well - though never more ready for a vacation than we are right now. He gets a week at Thanksgiving and I am insanely jealous. We spent last Sunday sitting in the sun outside - not really doing anything - just being quiet - he may have read a little - we played catch late in the afternoon - I napped - other than that - I can't remember if we did anything. I could use a few more days like that. I'm actually looking past Thanksgiving to our Christmas break and dreaming of the time to find a warm, sunny spot of solitude. I love New Orleans - I am constantly amazed at what this city offers and what it demands.

Some photos of quiet things in and around New Orleans....

ship passing on the river...

the swamp.

View from my window

It's raining today. Clouds keep streaming by over the french quarter and toward the Mississippi.
The building on the left is the previous School of Public Health - it is not abandoned. I-10 runs along the top left of the photo. The Iberville Housing Project is central in the photo.
Old School of Public Health - my bribery/near towing incident took place where you see the line of cars parked. The white lines are the crosswalk - I was parked a few feet closer to the crosswalk than the silverish, white car.

Offering bribes?

You never know what you might do until actually faced with a situation. For example, I've never imagined myself offering a bribe. I've traveled a lot and haggled and given tips and understood that money sometimes equals better service, but I've never had anyone say to me "What can you do to make it worth my while?" That is, until yesterday when watching my Jeep get strapped to a tow truck to be pulled off to car prison for a parking infraction.

Earlier that day, I drove to work with loads of food for a morning meeting - I was thrilled to find on-street parking less than a block from my office with no scary signs warning me of tickets and towing. I parked, gathered my thing, and buzzed off to the office.

At one point during the day, I looked out from 23rd floor window down at my Jeep and noticed something envelope shaped on my windshield, but chose to ignore it because I couldn't see any problem with my parking situation.

When I exited the Tidewater building at 5:05pm, Mr. Tow-guy was lifting the back of my Jeep off the ground, as I realized the situation I began to run toward him and wave my arms for fear that I wouldn't get to him in time. I arrived just as he was climbing back into his truck to leave. I explained my mistake and pointed out that there was no sign. He didn't care and replied simply "You should know the law." I asked for clarification. "The law that says you can't park within 20 feet of a crosswalk." I asked politely for forgiveness - I explained that I normally bike to work - that I had heavy items in tow - that I was new to the city - that I really, really, really didn't want him to tow my car. Nothing worked. So, I stood there - refusing to leave - at which point he made his request for money.

I was instructed to discretely walk to the cab of his truck and lay $20 on the seat and he would inspect my vehicle while I did so. I pulled out all of the money I had in my wallet, $16, and laid it on the seat. He walked up and looked over my shoulder and shook his head - "You're really making this hard for me - all the paperwork - all the hassle. Go on. Go on home now. Don't do it again."

I scurried off, waited for him to release my vehicle, and quickly drove away. I wonder how others might have handled it. Me, I'm really glad I had money in my wallet and that my car was still there when I walked out, I couldn't imagine visiting a tow lot in New Orleans at night.

Po-boys I have known and loved

James is on a quest to discover the best all-around po-boy sandwich in New Orleans (or in the Irish Channel/ Garden District neighborhoods of New Orleans, because that is where we live). I've joined him on this journey, because it is interesting to try new foods and, honestly, nothing else makes him as happy as procuring a sandwich and eating all of it on a Saturday afternoon. A lot of time and energy has been devoted to describing po-boys by others There is even a Po-boy festival upcoming this month (James won't know until he reads the blog)>

In our journeys, we've found that the corner grocery stores actually make the best po-boys at super-low prices. This week, we had Vicki's. Her specialty is the catfish po-boys, no butter and no mayo. Vicki's is on Magazine St. which makes it a nice easy bike-ride from our house. This week we traveled from the grocery to the library on St. Charles to sit in the grass and watch people go by as we happily ate and discussed our food. I eagerly await James' update about the newest location that we'll try, though he's already selecting some as his favorite and we've visited those more than once. So, our survey may be wrapped up more quickly than anticipated. I'll keep you posted.

Duct tape

If you ask a kid to close his mouth because he is talking too much and then realize that the kid thinks he can't close his mouth because he doesn't understand that he can actually breathe through his nose without the assistance of said mouth - what do you do? You instruct the kid to hold his lips together with his fingers and practice breathing in and out through the nose and you follow with a demonstration. Which, interestingly, isn't sufficient for proving that the kid can survive with a closed mouth, because the kid tries to mimic your methods, but repeatedly and frantically lets go of his lips and gasps for air. However, if the kid (being the genius that only a kid can be) asks for some tape - to secure his own mouth for this new and exciting experiment - and you just happen to have some duct tape on the desk for some other reason. It's only for the sake of science that you peel off a couple of inches and hand it to the kid. The duct tape becomes a learning apparatus - a tool used to enhance a kid's ability to see clearly that a person with a duct-taped mouth, can, in fact, breathe through their nose and survive. If the kid is so thrilled by the experiment that he wants to leave the duct tape on his mouth for the remainder of the class - and you "reluctantly" agree. It is only for scientific purposes - to continue to gather data about how long a person can live and breathe with no air movement through their mouth. If class enthusiasm is at an all time high because of the duct tape experiment and other students beg to be included.... well..., science is pretty wonderful, isn't it?

A moment in history

James and I don't have a television or the internet in our home (our way of remaining sane and focused), so last night we ventured out to Parasol's, a neighborhood bar/restaurant, to watch the election unfold. While there, the people sitting next to us struck up a conversation. They were a couple from across the river in Gretna who decided to come to Parasol's because this was the stomping grounds of the gentleman's grandfather. This was his grandparents and parents neighborhood growing up - the family lived in close proximity to one another - all within a few blocks of the place we were sitting. His family moved across the river when he was a teenager, but he returned often to pay tribute to his grandfather. As he was talking, he suddenly pointed to the wall just behind me and said "Do you see that box over there?" We looked over to see an opening covered with particle board just behind the standing cooler/refrigerator, which now holds canned and bottled beverages. "Blacks used to have to order through that window. Even though the door was open - they couldn't come inside - they had to stand in line out there. My granddad used to tell me about that."

Half an hour later - James and I watched as Barack Obama won the electoral votes of our country and was announced the 44th President-Elect of the United States of America. We traversed three generations of a family's and a nation's history in just a few minutes and we watched as the world celebrated a victory that cannot be described with words.

little friends

Yesterday I arrived home and was walking through the kitchen, when I looked out of my window to see my neighbor and his little boys, waving their arms wildly from their driveway - beckoning for me to come outside. Not sure if it was an emergency, I rushed out the front door only to be met by my little friends who had already rounded the corner from their gate and were rushing toward ours.

I opened the gate and was immediately surrounded by small happy boys jumping up and down and yelling "This is for you - this picture is for you!" "This is for James - this picture is for James!" The smallest, having no school picture to share, jumped up and down and waved his arms back and forth saying "Hi Hector - Hi - Hi Hector!!! (Sometimes, they call me Hedder, but mostly they get my name confused with Hector, who is a character on their favorite cartoon - Thomas the Train)


The little jumping boys decided it was play and planting time, and tried to muscle their way into the backyard to dig in the dirt. I love my neighbors...

NOLA Halloween

After work on Friday, James and I sat on our front porch watching people go by. We hoped for trick-or-treaters, but was told that all of the kids in our hood pile up in cars and vans to head over to the Garden District where the candy is coveted - and the decorations are to die for.

At about 6pm, we set to work on our costumes, which involved painted faces and draped fabric - he in ghostly white, me in haunting black - (photos to follow) - After reaching a point of satisfaction with our outfits, we went back to the porch and actually had one little girl of about three years wander over to somehow imply without words that she had a bag and that candy belonged in it. She received a bounty being our one and only customer (and I didn't let James scare her - though he really wanted to).



Our neighbors were having a party across the street, so we decided to do front door delivery of candy. We must have looked pretty interesting - walking over - I saying "trick-or-treat" repeatedly and James booing - arms in the air. At some point, one of the group outside, yelled, "It's the neighbors! Get your camera!" Chaos ensued - children ran about - adults complimented our costumes - photos were taken - candy was shared.

We headed off to the french quarter on our bikes (not an easy task with the flowing fabric) - stopping to watch the Halloween parade and catch some beads - then to look at others in festive attire - arriving in the french quarter to the most fabulous costume party I have ever witnessed. Jellyfish with glowing tentacles, walking broccoli and cauliflower, giant carebears, presidential candidates, adam and eve, skeletons, forest nymphs, knights, queen elizabeth and her ladies in waiting, a television, it is a blur of one amazingly decorated person after another.

Hours went by and we only had to walk along Frenchman street and look at every person on display. This is the beginning of festival season in New Orleans.

Trick-or-treat

Ray Nagin Float


Teacher dress up



Mr. McDonald's students

public health

I’m currently in San Diego for the American Public Health Association Annual meeting. Learning about my new professional field – public health. I know it has been confusing to those who read the blog – I left UF and the International Center to come to New Orleans to be a teacher – and instead, took a job at a wealthy, private university as the manager of a leadership training program. Seemingly bizarre – I know.

Here’s the background – a year ago, I read a book “Mountains beyond mountains: The story of Paul Farmer – a man who could cure the world.” (title may not be exact) - the book opened my eyes to a world of public health inequities that I had never wrapped my mind around before. I was overwhelmed and inspired by Farmer, a doctor who focuses his work on curing infectious diseases in populations of the extremely poor – predominantly Haitian peoples. I started to investigate the organization, Partners in Health, that he founded.

I began taking Spanish classes (though still struggling with this) and reading more about public health both in the United States and abroad – with the idea that my interest in international studies, education, management, and even the arts could somehow fit together to lead me in the right direction.

I didn’t imagine that I would be a health professional, but possibly an administrator or educator for public health programming. When James and I decided to look into moving to New Orleans – I am interested in teaching in public school at some level, but I believe that I can have a larger impact by using the skills that I have outside of a typical school setting.

When applying for a variety of teaching positions, I also looked into the university setting and, on a whim, applied for a job that I in no way thought I was qualified for – a program manager for a graduate-level leadership training program in Tulane’s school of public health and tropical medicine. I went on the interview and took one look around and asked myself “what am I doing here? I didn’t come to New Orleans to work in a university,” and turned around to leave - at the same moment that the director walked out to greet me. Exactly two hours after the completion of our interview - she called to offer me the job.

Three months later, I am sitting in the San Diego airport waiting for my flight back to New Orleans. I’ve spent five days being filled with new information about public health in the US and abroad – meeting doctors, administrators, and educators. Learning how health policy is made and how public health initiatives are funded (or not) by the government and private organizations. Again, I’m overwhelmed and inspired.

My job has been a roller coaster of meeting new people, learning new terminology, revitalizing a program that was withering away due to nearly a half year of neglect, teaching a graduate level course, identifying and managing scholarships and their recipients. So much has been happening that I was wondering if I was working in public health or in just another office environment.

This trip and my regular interaction with my students over the past couple of weeks, have helped me to begin to ground myself in the reality that is my current career. I do not know where it will lead me, but I know I’m on the right path. You'll hear more about this as I weave my way through this new endeavor.

Mr. McDonald's Pocket Hood Dictionary

James' students have been teaching him how to converse with other people in the hood. One motivated student compiled the definitions into two dictionaries for him - a full-size and a handy pocket sized. Here are some of the helpful tidbits included.

Whats up? Whats popin? Whats good? = hello, hey, hi

homie, son, potner = boy

that what up. for show. = that's good

I got the munchies. I got that good. Where the grub at? What they got to snack on? = food talk

I starving dog. = I'm hungry.

Who dey? = calling somebody

Holla back. = Call me.

chillin. coolin = taking a break.

chill. = stop.

cool out. chill out = cool down.

peace out. see you. = good bye.

bounce. roll out. split out. get out. = leave.

More river photos

Mississippi river bike path

James and I went for a bike ride last night to take photos of my daily route along the river.

Walking in our neighbor"hood"

Last week, I was biking home from work and a girl of about 8 or 9 smiled and waved at me and said hello, then as I passed, she turned and yelled, "White lady, you are going the wrong way - you must not know you are in the hood!" I looked back over my shoulder at her - she stood with arms crossed and lips pursed, shaking her head.

I wasn't sure if she was angry with me or warning me.

James and I live in the Irish Channel of New Orleans - to our south is the Mississippi River, to our east we are separated from the St. Thomas Housing Project by Jackson St., the Walmart, and a few additional blocks. To our north 7 blocks is Magazine Street, which separates the Irish Channel from the Garden District(possibly the wealthiest neighborhood in New Orleans proper), to our west are houses and neighbors of varying income levels. In other words, we live among the richest and poorest in New Orleans - right in the middle of it all. We take walks regularly and are constantly amazed by how, in a few blocks in any direction, the economic status and demographic changes completely.

Mostly people treat us very kindly while we walk along - we recognize many of our neighbors, we stop and chat with those who seem interested in us and wave to some and nod at others. We acknowledge everyone we pass and they offer us the same respect. We sometimes receive words of warning about what times we should walk or which roads to avoid and for what reason. We take all of the advice into consideration and generally heed the warnings of the people who seem to know the most and to have our best interests at heart (those people who actually walk around and sit outside and ride their bikes - like we do ). We do not as readily accept the advice we receive from people who don't spend time on their porch or who don't talk to their neighbors or who run from their car into their house or live in a gated and locked home or community because they are frightened by their world.

We do not see ourselves as bold or brave or noble or stupid or naive or misguided. We are two people who like to live our lives by participating in our neighborhood, by talking to people who are interesting and who tell a good story, by taking walks, by riding our bikes, by planting things in our yard, and by eating poboys from the corner grocery store. We aren't fancy and we aren't plain. We aren't special. We just want to belong in the place that we live and we want to honor the people we live among.

From my window

From my office on the 23rd floor of Tulane's Tidewater building, I can see the Mississippi River, Interstate 10, 2 cemeteries, the PowerBall sign, and the Iberville public housing project. According to the 2000 census, this housing project contains 2504 residents, 99.5% African American, 61.9% female, and 68% female households (meaning no adult male present). The median income in 2000 was $4,621. One of the buildings was never repaired after Katrina, so it has no roof or windows.

I don't look out my window often enough, but when I do, I watch the people in the projects. James loves my view and always asks me what is happening on the river or in the french quarter or if the traffic is bad, but I never remember to look at those things. I always watch the kids running home from school in their white shirts and dark pants, I see the teenagers piling into cars, I see police cars circling the area, and I imagine what their lives are like down there. What does it look like inside? Is there mother home waiting for them? I never see the women who are the heads of the household. Is that because they are at work or because they never go outside?

It feels so strange for me to watch them from above. They don't know that I've seen them or that I'm thinking about them. I've walked and driven by, but it looks completely different from down below - dirtier - less inviting. I wonder if that is how the residents feel about it, too.

An assortment of bruises

Part II of The Teacher's Party


Mr. W & Mr. B left the casino with loads of cash (or $100 in winnings each) - they wanted a cab, but we had our bikes - so we piled on - Mr. W as driver and I as passenger of my bike - and James as driver and Mr. B as passenger on his. Mr. W doesn't know how to ride a bike - I learned this immediately, because he couldn't pedal more than two feet at a time before stopping. He would turn violently in the opposite direction of the potential fall. This was hysterical to me, so I could not stop laughing, which frustrated Mr. W even further - he kept repeating in his teacher voice - "Heather - listen - you have to stop laughing - I can't concentrate if you keep laughing." This made me laugh harder, because only a person who does not know how to ride a bike needs to concentrate when biking - though he was adamant about the fact that he was a skilled bikeman. I tried to take over the position of pedaler - but Mr. W was too heavy.


Mr. B and James were long gone - and we were still only a block away from the casino. We switched again and this time I held my breath to keep from making any laughing noise - we were able to slowly and unsteadily make our way down the river road. Mr. W kicked my shins and calves with every pedal and he kept sitting on my lap, which pushed me further and further off the bike seat. After the sheer delight of the situation passed (which was about a mile into it), the extreme pain of being kicked and sat on became too much to handle, so I demanded Mr. W stop the bike and I decided to walk the remainder of the trip.

A few hundred feet later we found James & Mr. B who had doubled back to look for us - so we switched bike partners. I got to ride with my sweetie who knows how to pedal a bike - and Mr. B got the non-pedaler. We went another mile or so before they had reorganized again - with Mr. B biking alone and Andrew running along beside. Mr. W had procured a basketball along the way and was showing off his moves. He was also whining about how far we had gone and wanted to know if we were ever going to get there. Wherever "there" was - only James seemed to know for sure.

We arrived at the Saint, James' destination of choice, a bar he had been wanting to check out. The evening continued with pork rinds (Mr. B's choice), several phone calls to Mr. W's girlfriend, a dance contest between the boys, and Mr. B's failed attempt to win over a hot lady 1o years his senior. James tried to intervene on his friend's behalf, but the hot lady said Mr. B was just too young, however, she thought James looked about the right age for her. All the while, Mr. W kept asking me advice on how to get his girlfriend, whom he adores, to stop talking to him about their relationship while he watches TV. I reflected for a moment and thought back to a lesson learned in teacher training - always give students two options, so I replied, "You have two choices - deal with it - or - date an older woman. They are usually more secure and definitely more interesting." Mr. W was unimpressed and went back to text-messaging his young, cute chatty patty, but at least he stopped asking me questions for which he didn't really want the answer. And I could concentrate on icing my many new bruises.

The teacher party

Recently, the UNO Charter Schools had a party at the Louisiana Children Museum to celebrate teachers. Dress was "After 5:00," which meant different things to different people. I wore a dress that I could bike in, James wore khakis and a guayabera. We arrived to food and drinks catered by Martin's Wine Cellar and lots of teachers ready to have a good time. We sat at mini tables in mini chairs and ate and socialized. My friends, Mr. B and Mr. W, from teachNOLA came along. Competition was fierce in the various kids areas - whose fastball was the fastest? who could shimmy up the rope the fastest? hit the wedge the hardest? I didn't participate, but James was showing his competitive side.

Some guy who could be mistaken for Jesus wandered into the party and asked if he could use Mr. W's cell phone. Mr. W was a little wary, but his curiousity won out so he handed the guy, we'll call him "J", the phone. J called his girlfriend and launched into a long and involved story about how he left the hotel to get Abita Beer and found the store with no problem, but when he walked out of the store, he got turned around, and couldn't remember which direction from which he had come. He also didn't remember the street the hotel was on or the cross street or the name of the hotel. He didn't have the beer anymore either. He got really tired and frustrated and had decided that the beer was the source of his problems and maybe if he put it down, he would find his way. He had been wandering around quite awhile when he happened upon the teacher party, he thought we looked friendly, so he came in to ask for help. After telling his story, J received information from the person on the other end of the line and handed the phone back to Andrew. James was so taken with the story, he pointed out a cooler of Abita beer sitting by the door. "You should take some with you - we aren't drinking beer tonight." J seemed confused, so Mr. B and James walked him over to the cooler and told him take a few. J was grateful and was getting ready to leave, but instead walked over and looked at James, and he said "I'm going to need that bag you offered." So, James found a little bag and they put a few more beers in it. J waved goodbye and was off -hopefully to the right place.

After the party, we visited Harrah's Casino, where Mr. W & Mr. B gambled and doubled their money at the blackjack table and I cheered them on, while James wandered off to smooze his way into a $27 buffet - he didn't resurface for at least an hour - which was of great concern to Mr. W and Mr. B who couldn't believe that James and I don't keep minute-by-minute cell phone tabs on each other.